


He Is Young, He's Afraid

by ShowMeAHero



Series: Easy To Begin, But Hard To End [8]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Almost Fluff, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras really does have a way with words, Enjolras takes in strangers, Fluff, Grantaire is a strange stranger, M/M, Pre-Slash, References to Suicide, Suicide Attempt, so it works out for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Enjolras saw Grantaire was almost the last time, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Is Young, He's Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> I just wrote this quickly because I wanted to update, and I kind of wanted to establish how they met in a way that's different than other people's ideas.
> 
> This takes place near the beginning of their freshman year at university.  
> (November 3rd, 2011)

The first time Enjolras saw Grantaire, he was instantly worried. Looking back, he should have realized the omen for what it was; instead, he ignored all this and accepted the fact that this generally crazed man was going to be in his life now. However, at the time, he did not exactly think that there was anything wrong with being worried about a man who was leaning over the side of a bridge.

“Hey, there.” Enjolras walked up as casually as he could, shoving his hands in his pockets as he came up to stand beside the dark-haired man who was peering down at the water below. Enjolras was on one side of the buffer, and this strange man was on the other. Their fogged breath was mingling in the crisp air, but the stranger did not turn to look at him. He remained gripping the barrier, leaning forward slightly over the water. His knuckles jumped when he flexed the muscles in his hand; Enjolras’ heart skipped a little.

“Hello,” the man said gruffly. He kept his eyes down. Enjolras felt like shivering just looking at him. While Enjolras had packed himself in a thick coat, a scarf, mittens, and a hat, this man was wearing a thin, paint-splattered t-shirt, a pair of tattered jeans, old trainers, and nothing else. The stranger’s lips were blue. Enjolras’ brow furrowed. “What’s up?”

“What do you mean, “what’s up?” You’re about to jump off the bridge,” Enjolras replied, remembering too late that he was supposed to try to persuade this man not to jump, not snap at him. The man snorted.

“Thanks, I didn’t notice,” he deadpanned. He lifted his head and turned to Enjolras to say something else, but the words seemed to die in his throat when he laid eyes on the blonde. “Uhm.”

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras asked, stepping a little bit closer. The man did not move, keeping his eyes locked on Enjolras. Enjolras maintained the eye contact optimistically. The man eventually tore his eyes away and returned his attention to the frothy, frigid water beneath them.

“I just...” One of the man’s hands came off of the barrier so that he could run his palm over his face. Enjolras twitched forward slightly. “I’ve had enough of _being_. You know? I don’t see the point anymore. No one would miss me, and I think a lot of people would actually be better if I wasn’t here.” The man waved his free hand at the water before them. “I came to the most logical conclusion, I think.”

“You think wrong,” Enjolras told him, not making a move to come closer since the stranger was so loosely anchored. “There’s a lot to live for. You’re not living for anyone else, you’re living for you.”

The stranger snorted again. “If I’m living for me, all the more reason for me to die. I have nothing to live for, exactly. And I’m not trying to be all dramatic. I didn’t even expect anyone to see me. I just genuinely... there’s nothing for me here.” He spoke with the honesty of the dying and the damned.

“Well, what’s for you down there?” Enjolras asked, stepping over the barrier to stand next to the stranger on the slim edge. “Because that looks like nothing down there. Up here, there’s opportunities to turn your life around. Down there, there’s no more chances.”

“You’re an optimistic one.” The man turned his head up to look at Enjolras again. Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“And you’re a cynical one. But there’s a lot to live for, you know. Take me.” Enjolras motioned slightly to himself, his mittened hands coming free of his coat pockets as he spoke. “I live so that what I do in my life might serve to help others.”

“A good man. You’re a good man.” The man reached up for a moment before returning both hands to the barrier, stretching his arms out straight behind him as he leaned further forwards almost subconsciously. “I’m not.”

“You haven’t given yourself a proper chance. Everyone deserves a proper chance,” Enjolras informed him matter-of-factly, hoping his voice was not letting on the true panic he felt; he very honestly believed this man was one wrong word away from dying.

“I’m not sure I count.” The man’s tone was bitter. His fingers tapped at the barrier. Enjolras’ fingers itched slightly; he shoved them back into his pockets.

“Of course you count. I count you,” Enjolras inched closer. The man did not react in any outward way. “I’m talking to you intelligently, see? You count.”

“You are stupidly optimistic. I’m glad you haven’t been extinguished yet.” The man smiled slightly at Enjolras, and it seemed less hopeless than his previous expressions.

“There is no “yet”; optimism may be dimmed, but never extinguished. It’s a trait-”

“-it’s a disease-”

“-it’s a state of being that one enters and will likely never leave,” Enjolras finished. The stranger cocked his head slightly.

“Why’d you stop here?” The stranger asked suddenly. Enjolras frowned.

“Why wouldn’t I have stopped? I couldn’t leave you here,” Enjolras answered very honestly. The man raised an eyebrow, but otherwise did not question him.

“You don’t even know me. How do you know I deserve to live?” The man shifted slightly towards Enjolras, and the blonde moved closer ever so slightly.

“Because it doesn’t matter what you’ve done. If you want to die to protect others, you’ve still got a sense of good in you. Even if it’s misplaced,” Enjolras explained. The man leaned in conspiratorially; Enjolras responded subconsciously in kind.

“My sense of good is anything but misplaced,” the man whispered. Enjolras shook his head.

“You’re wrong. Let me prove you’re wrong.” Enjolras stepped back over the barrier onto the sidewalk. The stranger eyed him for the brief moment before Enjolras held his hand out. “Come on.”

The man hesitated for a second. He looked back down at the water briefly, fleetingly, almost as though he wished he had not been interrupted at the intimate date, but he took Enjolras’ hand anyways. Enjolras pulled him onto the sidewalk and had to refrain from hugging the man tightly in relief.

“Are you an angel?” the man asked softly. Enjolras looked down at him in surprise, but, before he could answer, the man continued. “Or a god, perhaps. Apollo, the sun god, come to rescue me on this, the coldest and darkest of days.”

“I’m not,” Enjolras assured him, but the man shook his head, his dark curls of hair jostling with his movements. His skin was too pale and vaguely tinted blue by the cold; still, he seemed unaffected. Perhaps he had too much adrenaline coursing through his system; perhaps he was distracted; perhaps he simply did not care.

“Yes, you are,” the man stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And I’m not even religious, I’ll have you know.”

“You don’t look Greek, and this is the twenty-first century, so I assumed you didn’t believe in Apollo.” Enjolras paused for a moment before he held out his hand, a habit of many men when meeting someone new. “I’m Enjolras.”

The stranger looked at his hand with a sort of reverence for a moment before he took it and shook it; his grip was tight, his skin was mottled by the cold, and his arms were colored by the cold air and some sort of dried red paint. “I’m Grantaire. And, you’re wrong, too, I’ll have you know.”

“About what?” Enjolras asked. The handshake had ended, but their hands were still held closely together. The man - _Grantaire_ , Enjolras reminded himself - stepped closer, trapping their hands between them.

“I do believe in Apollo now.” Grantaire’s eyes flickered between Enjolras’ briefly. Enjolras swallowed; it was not often that he was caught off-guard or speechless. “Enjolras. Apollo, reincarnated. That must make me, what? Icarus? Though I am likely more suited to be Dionysus.”

“We’ll see, Grantaire,” Enjolras said slowly, trying not to be distracted by the way the man’s name sounded on his tongue. Grantaire’s eyes slipped closed for just a moment before he stepped away, dropping Enjolras’ gaze and hand.

“You said “come on”. Where are we going?” Grantaire asked, shoving his hands in his back pockets. Enjolras tugged his coat off and draped it over the shivering man.

“My friend’s room isn’t too far from here. We’re going there to warm you up, and then we’ll talk and see if I can’t help you out. Is that alright?” Enjolras asked, as though he were not already leading the man in the direction of Marius’ nearby dorm, 2:45 class on the other side of campus be damned. Grantaire nodded, as though he now had some previously unknown great understanding, and let himself be led.

“That’s alright. I don’t have a place to be right now anyways,” Grantaire agreed easily, though his eyes darted to the water for a second before coming back to the sidewalk under his feet. “Not anymore, anyways.”

Enjolras had “a penchant for bringing home strays who caught his eye,” in Courfeyrac’s words. Enjolras could not deny this; if he found someone who needed a place to stay or a person to stay with, he would gladly offer himself to be what they needed. He had this passion trapped inside of him, this drive to save as many people as he could, no matter what others thought of him or said to him. Grantaire just happened to be a stray who fell victim to Enjolras’ passion, and both of them became victims of happenstance that afternoon. Neither of them regrets it; though, sometimes, Enjolras will catch Grantaire with a far-off look in his blue eye, a dejected slump to his solid posture, a shaky hand on the keys of the Musain’s piano, and Enjolras will feel, very briefly, uneasy.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm about 100% sure I'll find mistakes later, because I'm cold and tired and I just wanted to throw something out there. I hope you enjoyed it anyways!
> 
> The title was taken from the lyric from "Bring Him Home" from Les Mis which says "He is young, he's afraid. Let him rest, Heaven blessed."
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
